“Yes, I remember,” she said. She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. “My sister is sure to be out. ’ ‘Prudence,’ repeated Gerald unguardedly. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English.
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